Sniper
by TheIncredibleDancingBetty
Summary: The turtles face a sniper with potentially tragic Will they escape with their lives? Leo POV first half then Don POV Accurate sniper tactics WARNING: Blood ONESHOT


I don't own the TMNT

I got this idea both from a real life sniper I knew, who was the closest thing to a ninja that I've ever seen, and after reading HannahCake310's _The Fool. _She and LittleKy, my beloved bouncers, deserve special thanks and confetti!

I tried to be accurate with most of this. Most comes from my own personal experience in one form or another. Hope you enjoy the story!

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How could I have let this happen?

My heart thudded hard in my plastron, his screams piercing my insides like white hot blades. My brother.

And now, the blood…my blood…

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I knew it as soon as I stepped from the manhole cover. Something was different. Maybe I was taking Karai's threat to heart. She said she would do anything. Anything to destroy us once and for all. Maybe I was too used to thinking of her with true honor. Maybe I had just foolishly assumed that she would use honest tactics.

I had never expected this.

All was unusually quiet. Even the streets were unusually silent. Not a movement from the ususal purple dragon thugs, we didn't even see a jaywalker. This should have told me more than I needed to know, this should have caused me to turn my brothers around, head back to the Lair. I say this. That we should go back.

Yet they protest and we continued. I allowed us to continue.

Stupid. Stupid.

I try again. We should go back. But they laugh me off. I allow it.

Idiot. Stupid idiot.

The crying. The sound of a child crying. Should we investigate?

I wasn't sure, it didn't seem right. It came from the middle of a parking lot. There was a large cardboard box there, other than that it was empty. Too empty. Nothing to hide against, nothing for cover. It was too risky, wasn't it? But it was a child…

Mikey was getting anxious. He always was the softhearted one of the group, with a special soft spot for animals and children. He couldn't stand hearing the sound of the sobs. They were sounding even more stricken as the time went by. What if the child was hurt?

I told him to stand down. I needed to assess the situation.

Stupid stupid stupid.

Maybe I was too used to him listening to me. Maybe I was too distracted with my own thinking, with trying to analyze the predicament. Was it too much risk? Was it real? It might be a trap. It _smelled_ like a trap.

I heard Raph cry out and turned around. My heart plummeted, icy cold. There was Mikey, sprinting across the parking lot, his body hung low but still dreadfully exposed. Yet I didn't move. My feet stayed rooted to the ground even as I called out to him to come back.

He didn't even turn around.

I should've been paying more attention. I should've tried harder…

The shot rang out, making us all freeze where we were. A shot? And not just any kind of shot, it was crisper. Cleaner. The air seemed to echo with the sound. Where did it come from? We saw no movement, no muzzle flash.

It was maybe half a second, though it seemed to crawl on forever. Nothing happened. Mikey had reached the box and flipped it over to find a tape recorder. A tape recorder playing the sound of a crying child.

Just as the high powered bullet ripped into his thigh.

It seemed to rip through his upper thigh, tearing the flesh away. Blood arced in the air. He went down hard, clutching the pumping wound, hot red arterial blood spilling sickly wet across the dark pavement. His teeth clenched, he let out a low cry. It turned into a scream. One that seared my insides, made the bile rise in my throat.

Raph lunged out for him, but I yanked him back to the cover of the small building we hid against. He screamed at me. Mikey was out there! He needed our help! How could I let him lay there, to suffer and die?

His words hit me like the hardest punch, my heart twisted under the pressure, but in my brain I knew. How could I tell him? This wasn't normal. It wasn't right. I ordered him to stand down. Maybe it was my stance, maybe it was the look on my face, I don't know but he listened. He roared and punched the wall, barely restraining his fury.

I looked at Don. I could see his own thought processes going. Where were the people? Even now, Mikey was in the middle of the parking lot. He was shot, yet no one was coming to get him. No one was coming to get us. Where did the shot come from? None of us knew.

Yet, we knew what it was. It took so long to get to Mikey. The tactics. They all screamed of a sniper.

Of all that we had dealt with, we had never faced anything quite like this. Truly a trained killer, one that does so from a distance, never to be seen. We would likely never see him, he could be blocks away, firing away from the safety of distance and plenty of cover.

But snipers kill with their shots, right? Yet I remembered from a book on military tactics that I had that one way that the snipers used to increase their…body count…was to severely injure someone. Then pick off everyone that went to help him. It was a cruel, but effective tactic. And now it was being utilized on us.

If we ran out there to help Mikey, we would surely be picked off. If we stepped a distance away from our cover, we would be shot. And it wouldn't be a leg wound but one to the head. Instant death. But it was impossible for us to simply leave him there. He was our brother.

There was no cover around Mikey anywhere. The sniper had chosen his location well. Even if we approached him at a full sprint, we would be fully exposed for at least a full five seconds. That was more than enough time for him to do what he needed. Zig-zagging might help, but if he was a true professional than it was unlikely. And I was unwilling to risk more of my brothers.

I ground my teeth and punched the pavement. Hot tears burned beneath my lids but I held him back. I had to be strong. Don shifted beside me. He called out to Mikey, see if he could come to us.

Gritting his teeth, fists balled in pain, Mikey tried to shift forward, dragging his useless leg, already slippery wet with his own blood. As soon as he moved a few inches another bullet punched the pavement right in front of his nose. A spray of broken pavement and rocks flew up on the impact, pelting his face. He cried out and hid his face beneath his arm, sobbing. But he was already weaker. His hands were shaking. How much blood had he lost? It was difficult to tell.

Could we get to our vehicle in time, maybe drive it out there? It was bullet resistant, right? Don said no, we didn't have time. He could see what was happening better than I could with his medical knowledge. The blood was pumping out of Mikey slower now. That was a bad sign. It meant that he was running out. Soon, he would bleed to death.

Don had a thought, something that might work, and sprinted off behind us, without explanation. I waited anxiously, resisting the urge to cover my ears to hide Mikey's cries, putting my trust in my brother's mind. But the wait, though it was only for a second, was almost too long. Mikey's screams, growing ever weaker, were too much. I couldn't stand it.

Don wasn't even gone a second before the situation was complicated. I knew what Raph was doing even before I turned around and saw him. Call it instinct. Call it experience. Whatever. Either way my legs were already moving as he darted past me, the pads of my feet hitting the pavement hard as I chased Raph's form across the parking lot.

We weren't even a fifth of the way across before the shot rang out. I held my breath. Half a second delay, then it would hit. I yelled at him to duck, that the bullet was coming. Somehow through his rage haze he must've heard me, for he allowed his legs to buckle and he rolled. Surely that would be enough. Surely the sniper wouldn't anticipate that.

Damn to fuck.

The bullet obviously didn't find its intended body part, it didn't hit his head. If that's even where the person was aiming. Instead it found his calf. It was enough to make him buckle, to make him stop as the muscles in his leg betrayed him. Perhaps that's all the sniper really wanted.

My blood ran cold.

Another shot rang out.

I barely reached him in time. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around him, holding his head to my chest. I would be his shield. The piercing pain struck me from behind, piercing my shell and burrowing deep, at the same area where Raph's head once was. A sharp, yet dull ache blossomed on the left side of my chest. For a moment I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I screamed at myself. Do something. Get away. He won't stop with just one shot. He wouldn't stop with us simply being wounded.

Next is the kill shot. First me. Then Raph. Would Donnie be next? Oh, I have killed all of my family. All for not trusting my instincts. The tears squeezed from my eyes as I embraced Raph tighter and prepared for the next shot. I whispered my apologies to both of them. I have failed them all. They were going to die, their blood would be on my hands.

When the next shot rang out I anticipated the next blow. Would I feel it? Or would everything just go blank?

None came.

Instead it was followed by a dull, metallic thud. Whipping my head around, I saw Don holding two very large manhole covers. A high caliber bullet was lodged in one of them. He was sprinting, holding his body low, covering himself as much as possible with the manhole covers. He reached me just in time to block the next shot, presumably coming at me.

I shouted at him to help Raph back to some real cover, I would get Mikey. After a heartbeat's hesitation, he nodded and grabbed Raph, who thankfully complied. They still moved at a good pace now that Don could support his injured side.

The sniper had now obviously turned his attention to me. The manhole cover I gripped reverberated as a bullet struck it hard. I struggled with the weight of the cover. It was one of the rectangular industrial ones. But since when did this kind of weight slow me down like this? In a few seconds, I reached Mikey. Calling out his name, I shook him. His skin was cool and clammy, he didn't move. My heart plummeted. Was he dead? I couldn't allow myself to think that, not now. I had to get him to safety. That was my first priority.

I hefted his dead weight. He was heavier than I remembered. Another bullet struck the manhole cover, this time at the bottom, near my feet. I gave a sharp intake of breath. He was trying to cripple me, aiming for one of the few things that were slightly exposed. I didn't have time.

Contracting my muscles I pulled at him, careful to keep his body within the cover as well, but it was harder than before. My breath was coming faster, more shallow. It felt as if someone were squeezing my lungs. Briefly I wondered where the bullet had gone, the one that had pierced my shell. The ache in my chest had spread. But I had no time to worry about that. I had to save my brother.

My head was spinning slightly, the sweat oozed from my pores. It was getting harder. I wasn't even halfway across the parking lot. A third, then a fourth bullet had gone into the manhole cover. He was clustering them now, perhaps trying to make a weakness in it. My legs shook as my head grew ever lighter, the gasping was harsher, yet the deeper I tried to take a breath, the worse it seemed to get. Even now my vision was edged with a haze.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I whipped around to see Don's face. He grabbed Mikey's other arm. With both of us working together, with the bullets raining down harder, more frequent, we got Mikey across.

My breath was rasping by now. My heart thudded hard against my chest, the panic in my body evident as a good breath was becoming more difficult, if not impossible. I took a few steps, then had to stop and rest, leaning hard against the wall. I stared at Don. His face was stricken. I forced a smile. I would be all right, I told him. I asked about Mikey. Would he be okay? He nodded. And Raph? Yes. Okay. Good. That was all that mattered, that my family would be safe.

My head was swimming harder and a blackness crept into my vision and my mind buzzed. It almost seemed pointless to fight it. Obviously something was wrong. But as long as my family was safe, that was all that mattered.

It was all that mattered.

Blackness enveloped me as I fell to the pavement.

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I could feel my pupils constrict as I saw Leo crumple to the ground. Panic tugged at my brain. Furiously I shook my head. Not the time, Donnie-boy. Not the time. Your brothers need you.

I gritted my teeth as I performed a quick mental triage, and turned to Mikey. Because of his injuries, he had to be first.

His skin was pale, cool and clammy. He was going into hypovolemic shock. Using the heel of my hand I applied hard pressure on his femoral artery, right at his upper groin. The bleeding stopped. Then my hand slipped on the blood coating his flesh. Fighting back the panic I quickly reapplied the pressure, and with my free hand I reached into my bag I and pulled out my own homemade tourniquet. It was fashioned just like the ones used in military combat. Quickly switching my hand with the tourniquet I tied it as much as it would go. Knowing that wouldn't be enough I inserted the small pipe in the knot of the tourniquet, twisting it more and more, the leverage of it thereby tightening the tourniquet more than my hands alone could. With my other hand I felt the pulse on his ankle. It was near non-existent to begin with, yet I waited until it was gone, then tightened the tourniquet some more for good measure before finally tying it into place. I felt the pulse on his carotid artery. It was so weak, so very weak. He was definitely going into hypovolemic shock. He needed blood, or he would surely die. Hands shaking I elevated his feet, shoving my bag under his heels.

Yet my hands trembled as I fumbled into my bag, praying that Raph would be back soon. His calf would be fine with time. I had applied a quick pressure bandage and gave him my bostaff to use as a crutch, practically ordering him to go get the Shellraiser. We couldn't carry everyone back without it.

Lightly I felt Leo's pulse. It was there, though rapid and weak. The bullet hole in his shell was small and neat. My heartbeat quickened when I realized that it was on the same general area as his heart.

I inspected the wound. It was so clean, did it come out the other side? I didn't remember. Gently rolling him to his side in recovery position, with his upper knee bent. Inspecting his plastron, I saw no wound. That meant the bullet was still inside. For one of the first times I cursed our being turtles. With the thickness, the hardness of the plastron, I wouldn't be able to see any of the telltale discoloration that would spell internal bleeding. How else could I tell his bleeding? Reaching over I pulled up his lip and applied pressure to his gum until it turned white, then took it away. Counting the seconds that it took for the pink color to return, I breathed a slight sigh of relief. At least his cap refill was normal. Which pointed to him not having a serious internal bleed.

But his breathing was becoming weaker and weaker. Inspecting him closely, I turned him to his back and lowered my head to get a better look at his chest. Sure enough, the left side was hardly raising at all. The bullet must've pierced his lung. A hemothorax? Slipping a hand under his shell I felt the wound, trying to see if there was any air bubbling out. None, though it was obvious air was going in. A tension pneumothorax. Damnit! Fresh panic set in. I couldn't treat him here! In fact, did I even have what I needed to treat something so serious back at the Lair? Quickly I mentally scanned the equipment that I had. I think I do, I would likely need the small x-ray as well.

Did I have an occlusive dressing? Yes! I tried to slap it on his shell, over the wound to block the air coming in that was quickly collapsing his lung but it wouldn't stick. The surface and the texture of his shell made it nearly impossible. I'd have to use something more like a plug. Stripping off my bandana I stuffed it in the hole. Would that work? Not perfectly, that's for sure. But it would help, right? Damnit!

Then my hopes were answered as the Shellraiser roared into view, swerving slightly. Another shot rang out. I ducked instinctively. In treating my brothers I had almost forgotten about the damn sniper. The vehicle quavering slightly, it pulled in close nearly running over Leo's hands in the process. I yanked open the doors. Raph was sitting on the driver's seat, his face pale with panic. I immediately saw the reason for his swerving. Only having use of one foot, he couldn't properly operate the brake pedal, the acceleration and the clutch, so he was using the end of my bostaff to press the clutch and his good foot to operate the other two.

This meant I would have to drive, which considering my brothers condition was not something I wanted to do. But it couldn't be helped.

Together we got our brothers into the vehicle, all the while bullets hitting the small building behind us and the Shellraiser itself. One thing good about a sniper being so far away, he couldn't easily change the direction his bullets were coming from.

Raph was stammering apologies. This was his fault. If he hadn't run out there…

I snapped at him to shut his trap. This was not the time or the place. He looked ashamed, but heeded my sharp instructions. He asked me if they were going to be alright, but I didn't answer. I couldn't. It seemed to take all my energy just to try to plan my next move. A thoracocentesis. A chest tap. I've read about it, studied it in textbooks, but I've never had to do it. I ran it over again and again in my head, even as I slammed the doors shut and sat in the driver's seat, hoping that I wasn't forgetting something important. Left foot depressing the clutch, I shifted into first and pressed my right foot on the accelerator as I decreased pressure on the clutch. I was hardly even aware of the traffic as I sped down the streets, straight to the Lair.

Splinter was in his own form of panic when we arrived. His face was stricken as he took in the sight of his two sons. He tried to talk to them, tell them that they would be alright. Then he looked at me, just like Raph looked at me. For an instant I stayed rooted to the spot as the full, true realization swamped over me.

It was all up to me. It was up to me whether my brothers lived or died.

The panic nipped again at my consciousness. Stopping I took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before slowly releasing it. My heart slowed down slightly. It was all I needed.

Mikey was the first priority. As cruel as it may sound, I may not even be able to save Leo, though normally people can survive even a few hours with a tension pneumothorax he was going down unusually quickly. Hopefully my plugging the bullet wound would do something. I still doubted that I could actually do the chest tap. It's not like I could palpate his ribs, I would have to use my x-ray machine to guide me. I knew that the x-ray machine wasn't ready. It was a relatively recent acquisition, and I had modified it last month to take running films but it needed to warm up, which was an unfortunate side effect to my tinkering. Without looking away from my patients I instructed Splinter to grab the device, giving a brief description of it, and told him where to plug it in. Then I told Raph to go through my hodge podge of medical supplies and look for an unbroken, unstained sterile package labelled 'chest tube' along with some bottles of betadine.

With Mikey I knew what to do. I knew I could save him. I just had to fix the artery. First, though, he needed fluids. Then, he really needed to get out of that tourniquet before permanent damage took place.

After washing thoroughly in antibacterial soap, I spent what seemed like forever but was likely only minutes trying to find a vein. With his traumatic blood loss, all the veins had shrunk and pulled back. I covered him with heated blankets to try to bring the veins out and looked at all four limbs, searching frantically for a vein, any vein, that I could use. None presented themselves. I briefly considered using an artery, but dismissed it. I was too inexperienced with it and the risk was too great.

Fighting back the panic once more, I decided that intraosseus was the only way I could do it. The sternum was out of the question, I had no clue if the needles could puncture the plastron effectively. I would have to use the tibia.

This was another thing that I had never really done. Raph's eyes widened as I told him to hold Mikey's good leg in place as I punched the intraosseus needle through the skin and into his bone, straight into his marrow. It was easier to do than I thought, though the process took over a minute because of the hardness of his adult-sized bone. We already had a bag of blood pre-warmed. As soon as I pierced the bag the blood started to flow into his marrow which in turn infused into his depleted blood supply.

Looking into the box of stolen sutures, I chose the finest curved needle I could find along with some fine catgut designed to break down after around 6 weeks. Grabbing a hemostat, I clamped it on the suture needle and after one good breath I reached for his wound. Separating the thick, torn flesh I was able to find the artery. It was nearly as big as a small garden hose. Luckily, the bullet hadn't completely ripped through it, but left a relatively clean gash about halfway through. Using some sterile guaze to soak up the excess blood, I started on the inner, muscular layer first, laying down a network of snug, tightly spaced stitches. I allowed my vision to narrow until I was only seeing what my hands were doing. After hesitantly testing the tightness of the stitches, I snipped it off and started on the outer layer, putting the stitches just as tightly packed as the inner muscular layer.

Surprisingly it only took an amount of minutes, though when I stepped back time seemed to stop. Now was the real test. Slowly I undid the tourniquet. If I did this wrong, then the stitches would pop open and he might lose what little blood he has left as well as what I supplementing him with. The other danger was that it was on too long and a clot had formed, which would mean that I would have to cut open the artery to remove it. Yet, as luck would have it, when the tourniquet finally released its hold and the blood flowed through the artery, the stitches held strong.

Letting out the breath I didn't know I was holding, palpated his other femoral artery, quickly counting the pulse. Already his heart had a more regular rhythm, and putting the blood pressure cuff on his arm I quickly assessed it, seeing gratefully that his blood pressure was slowly but surely going back up. I quickly performed the job of stitching together the wound itself with a stronger suture. This I was much more accustomed to. In fact, after I finished the initial repairing of the internal muscle I handed the suture to Splinter. He knew enough about this from caring for us before I took over it to get it done properly and I needed to get to Leo.

His pulse was weak, yet way too fast, and his blood pressure wasn't much better. He was deteriorating fast. Too fast. His neck veins were bulging and his trachea had deviated to the right side. Not a good sign. Definitely not good.

Briefly I wondered if I had triaged properly, if I should have started with him first but I shook my head. Too late for that. What's done is done.

Yanking on the small machine roughly the size of a small refridgerator, I positioned the x-ray over Leo's chest. I needed to see what was going on there. It had truly only been fifteen minutes since he'd been shot, if it was truly a tension pneumothorax, then he had at least fifteen more. If he would progress like a human, that is.

Slowly the image came on the screen. It was taking the x-ray live action, just like I had intended. But what it showed gave me no cause to celebrate this small achievement. His left lung had almost completely collapsed, the rest of the pleural cavity filled with a fluid that was likely blood. The increased pressure had pushed his heart off to one side and it was pumping too fast in the awkward position.

He needed a chest tube.

I was dimly aware of the rest of my family's eyes riveted to me in deathly silence as I took the sterile package from Raph and gave it a quick inspection. It was slightly expired, which is one reason why I was able to steal it, but the package was intact. Hopefully the sterility wasn't compromised by the expiration date.

Sharply I commanded Raph to get the medical pump. It was yet another medical device that I had personally modified for multiple uses, but honestly hadn't touched it since I did it. We simply never had need for it now. I prayed that it sitting there unused didn't affect its function.

Quickly I washed Leo's left side, first with rubbing alcohol, then with the brown betadine, liberally splashing the stuff over his skin. Wishing that I could use sterile gloves, I instead settled for a quick, vigorous brushing of my hands, wrists and forearms, paying special attention to my palms, fingers and nails before finally putting betadine over my own skin. It was the closest I could come to being sterile without the gloves. Considering what I was about to do infection was a major concern.

The chest tube package already opened, I carefully took it out and put the pieces together. Raph came back with the pump. I told him how to turn it on and had him hook the end of the tubing to it. Luckily it slowly hummed to life. Then I palpated Leo's side, barely feeling his ribs through the harder surface. I would just have to guess.

Staring at the x-ray, I slowly inserted the chest tube, taking a bit of effort to get through the 'skin' but was careful not to go through the muscle just yet. The tip appeared on the x-ray and I withdrew the tube, seeing I was too low. I tried again, but withdrew again when the x-ray showed my heading straight for a rib. The third time I was successful, getting between the right two ribs. So I pushed it through the flesh, the muscle, sliding it between the ribs and finally puncturing the pleural lining.

The reaction was immediate. Fluid gushed through the tube, the vacuum pump sloshing it into the disposal container. With suddenly trembling hands I grabbed some medical tape and secured the chest tube to Leo's side, using a configuration that would not allow it to come loose.

Anxiously I looked at the x-ray. The pleural space was emptying slowly but surely. The lung was still a squished, shriveled thing but that wouldn't change for a while. Time, rest and breathing exercises would repair the lung. He would be fine, though he would be susceptible of his lung collapsing again in the future.

Then I saw his heart didn't seem to be recovering like it should. It still seemed to struggle. Then, it looked almost as if it started quivering. My pupils dilated as with trembling hands I reached for his pulse, aghast to find it weaker, more thready, until it stopped beneath my skin.

For a second I thought it was a mistake. So I moved from the carotid pulse to the brachial. Still nothing. The radial. None. Panicked realization hit me as I leaned over him, my ear against his mouth, my eyes staring at his chest.

He wasn't breathing.

I cried out, startling both Splinter and Raph as I pinched his nose, tilted his head up and covered his mouth completely with my own, performing two full rescue breaths. Only one side of his chest rose, but after I stopped nothing happened.

Tears starting to form in the corner of my eyes I located his xyphoid process with my fingers and went one hand width beside it. Planting one hand over the other, I leaned over him and threw all my weight against the heel of my hand to compress his chest, right over his heart. It was harder than on the practice dummys I had, because of the plastron, and I had to use more effort than I thought. Counting softly to myself, I heaved myself onto his chest again and again and again. Immediately Splinter was beside me, his head close to Leo's, ready to take over the breathing when I was done with the chest compressions. When I finished he delivered two more breaths and then I was giving chest compressions once more, sweat beading my forehead, counting out loud while inwardly cursing Leo for doing this to me, to us.

Raph was crying beside us, pacing, punching the wall. He begged Leo to come back, cursed him, then begged me to save him.

I tried to ignore him, tried to focus on Leo, on the chest compressions, but my mind was racing. He had deteriorated so fast, was this because of what we were? Did it even matter, now that he was technically dead beneath my palms? Still I should've foreseen it… I should've…

I stopped, panting, as Splinter delivered two more breaths. I checked his breathing, checked his pulse. Still nothing. A sob caught in the back of my throat as I continued compressions. I wasn't even sure if I was doing them deep enough, it was so hard to get through the plastron. Plus I knew the statistics of how many people survive on just CPR. Most need more drastic measures to survive…

The defibrillator!

I barked another order at Raph to get it. Looking relieved to at least have something to do he rushed off, hobbling on my bostaff crutch. My mind worked. Would a defibrillator work? In truth I had only acquired and fixed it because of Splinter. Would it even work on a turtle? Would the plastron and shell make it ineffective?

Only one way to find out.

Splinter and I had completed two more rounds before Raph came back with the smallish device. I checked Leo's vitals. Still nothing.

Snatching the defibrillator out of Raph's hands. I turned it on and pulled out the pads. Peeling off the adhesives I put one on his upper left chest and the other on his middle right. The machine blipped. Snapping at everyone to stay back, we simply stared at our brother and the machine, waiting to see if it would be able to read Leo through the plastron.

_Scanning…scanning…scanning…_

I almost was ready to rip it off and try CPR again before it blipped again.

_Shock advised._

A slight beep and suddenly Leo's entire body jolted. It beeped again.

_Scanning…scanning…scanning…_

_Continue chest compressions._

I didn't need to be told twice. Splinter and I practically leapt on him. We did three more rounds before I instructed Raph to push the scan button again.

Once again we backed off as the machine did its thing.

_Scanning…scanning…scanning…_

_Shock advised._

Once again Leo's body jerked harshly. Splinter cried out and covered his eyes. Then it told us to continue compressions. This shock, like the last one, didn't work.

I was in panic by the time we finished our third round and repeated the whole insane process over again. Once again it delivered a shock, once again it didn't work.

We were going in circles. How long has his brain been without oxygen? At least five minuts, right? He was dead. We were doing all this for nothing. My brother was dead. I allowed him to die.

Splinter started weeping when he saw the change in my demeanor as I approached my brother once more. Raph howled. I was defeated. Mechanically I leaned over and placed my finger on his neck, over the carotid pulse.

It jumped under my finger, followed closely by a second, stronger beat.

_Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump_

I broke down and cried.

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A/N: I used literary license in having Leo pass out so quickly, as well as his rate of deterioration. Me and LittleKy discussed how their plastron would affect the defibrillator and finally I decided on having it just not quite as effective. I also have no clue if you can modify an x-ray machine to take running x-rays like that.

Other than that, everything is pretty much accurate. Some things might be different because I know that some medical techniques might be different in the military versus the civilian sector. Most of this I learned while going through TCCC (Tactical Combat Casualty Care) which, of course was hilarious. I had to do most of these things on a dummy while being shot at by paint balls to simulate live fire. Highly recommended LOL

In any case, leave me a review and let me know what you guys think!


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